


Cuts

by Sonicman66



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blood, Depression, F/M, One Shot, Self-Harm, Spoilers for 707's Route, canon-divergent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-10-18
Packaged: 2018-08-23 06:13:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8316898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sonicman66/pseuds/Sonicman66
Summary: He can't help but feel like he's invading something private, even when he confines himself to a single corner.
 
Just a small one-shot i wrote after reaching Day 8 on 707's route. Spoilers for 707's route, and descriptions of self-harm contained within.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Just a short drabble i wrote about MC and 707 with angst and headcanons inside. Again, self-harm and spoilers contained below.

The keys were loud, but not loud enough. Seven's eyes tracked only over lines of code, line after line after line, and still he saw too much. 

It felt like he was peeking into some forbidden glade, seeing something that was precious and had to be preserved, somewhere he had no business being in. Every once in a while he would spot her in the corner of his eye, reflected in his monitor. Every peek felt intrusive, like he should not be seeing any of it.

Her morning routine seemed normal. She'd walked out of the bedroom, bleary-eyed and yawning. She had stopped in the hall, staring at his corner. Contemplating a greeting or just remembering why he was here, he didn't know. Eventually she'd moved on and made herself breakfast, making an extra plate for him and gently placing it in his corner, trying carefully not to disturb him. The plate lay untouched now, bread stale and cold and eggs congealed. He couldn't miss the glances she shot his way.  
Even behind her lengthy bangs, (he couldn't help but notice the silky smoothness of her hair, the thought of how it would feel beneath his hands giving him pause-)

He shook his head. He had no right to those thoughts. 

She had eaten quietly, phone in her hand. From the vibrations of his phone every few moments, he could assume she was in the RFA chat. 

As she contacted his friends, her friends now too, he continues with those stolen glances around her space. He slowly pieced together details her social media hadn't provided. 

The half-full bottle of pills that sat on the counter, untouched after she had shaken one out and swallowed it after breakfast, had its label to him. His forbidden glances told him it was a bottle of anti-depressants, and the open first-aid kit told him she was prone to injury. 

He closed his eyes and took a sharp breath. When he opened them, he did all he could to focus his attention on nothing but the code in front of him, refusing to see her staring at him from behind those concealing bangs.

He typed almost furiously, desperately trying not to hear her rise. He forced his vision to tunnel, seeing only the screen and locking himself into his work.

The sound of the shower broke him out of his trance. The running water tore apart his concentration, and he couldn't stop before he stole more glances. She was gone, and so was the plate beside him. A bottle of water and a bag of Lais had replaced it, and he almost smiled at her care. Almost. It took a few more minutes of keystrokes frantically trying to cover the sound of running water and gentle singing, before he stopped. Something was wrong. Her singing had stopped, but the shower had not. Something was missing. For the first time in hours, he looked away from the computer, giving the room a once-over. Bottle in place, fridge closed, door shut and locked, curtains drawn, phone on couch, what was it? His gaze lingered on the phone after it vibrated once, before snapping back to the counter, to the empty space where the first-aid kit sat.

His eyes widened before he shook his head again. No, he would not intrude. It was her business, she probably just had a cut or scrape on her leg that she had to patch up. He wouldn't bother her.

The shower stopped, and he stood up. His legs groaned beneath him, protesting the sudden strain, and he stood motionless for several moments. No, he couldn't do this. He needed to sit down and finish his work, finish ensuring her safety so he could leave and she would never be in danger from him again. His body moved before he could think. He was marching towards the bathroom, mentally struggling against his body. He couldn't do this, it would only lead to greater danger for her, and he wouldn't be able to take it if she was hurt because of him-

Before he realized it, he was standing in front of the door, hand reaching for the knob. He stopped himself before he could grab it, straining his will against his body. He had to turn around now, or he risked losing this war against himself and giving in to his selfish desires. His will eventually prevailed, and he turned away from the door.

Right in time to hear it open. 

His gaze caught hers, and surprised eyes locked. She looked up at him, eyes wide and shocked, hair still damp, clinging to her scalp. She'd changed clothes, now wearing a long-sleeved, green sweater and jeans, a towel in her arms and the first-aid kit sitting on top of it. His eyes took in her entire form before he could stop himself, and focused on one point before he could tear his gaze away.

Again, he lost control of his body, and his hand reached out to her arm. She still stared into his eyes with that same expression, shocked and innocent. That gaze shifted only when he forced back her sleeves, revealing inch after inch of blood-soaked gauze coating her arms. She stared at her arms, guilt, worry, and fear flitting through them in an instant. His hand, trembling, slowly unraveled one arm's bandages, and her eyes met his once more, tears now pooling in them. 

As he stared at the scars on her arm, some bloody and new, others faded and clean, his entire body shook. He slowly, carefully re-wrapped her arm, gently reaching up and grabbing her shoulders. She flinched at the contact, blinking and spilling forth the tears he could see in her eyes. Wordlessly crying, she stared up at him, lip trembling. 

"Is this...because of-?" His voice broke before he could finish his question, a shiver forcing its way out from his core, making him almost convulse as he tried to force the words out. 

"No," she cut him off before he could even open his mouth, slowly shaking her head. "It's not your fault. I would have anyways, even without..." Her voice cracked, and she trailed off, closing her eyes and pulling her chin to her chest. The movement was so soft, and made her look so vulnerable. 

His vision blurred, and he realized he was crying, too. Stupid. She was hurt, and here he was, crying, not even trying to help her. 

He pulled her close to him, carefully wrapping her in a hug. He planted a soft kiss on her forehead, and they both let down the facades the had been holding. 

She threw her arms around him and sobbed, the sound and motion wracking through her tiny frame. Even now, he couldn't help but notice how small she was. 

He stopped holding back, squeezing her tightly to himself, holding on as if she might disappear any moment. His body trembled every few moments as another wave of agony, guilt, and despair ripped through him, tearing apart the mask he had constructed to keep her safe. Now he let loose everything he has been holding back, screaming out to the apartment how he was so sorry, how much he loved her, and how he was never letting her go again.


End file.
